When The World Hath Need
by PhoenixWing21570
Summary: "Thou do not hath to wait any longer. I have lived a long, good life, and I am ready to face the next great adventure… But when the time has need, I shall return." "The world has need always, Ignotus." Death said. "But thou choosest when thou have need of the world." Sometimes one lifetime is not enough, the world hath need...
1. Prologue: The Only One He Ever Feared

Prologue: The Only One He Ever Feared

**A/N: **I cannot express how happy I am that you willingly or unwillingly clicked on this story. I can promise you that the later chapters will be much longer than this one because, you know, this is the prologue. Remember, the faster you review the faster I write, plus you will get a virtual muffin. I will try to respond to any reviews I get in my next authors note. I welcome constructive criticism! Thanks for enduring my rambling, enjoy! 

**IMPORTANT: **Hello again, I have recently updated this chapter to fix the medieval wording, such as using thou throughout the story instead of thee. I thought that using thou would be more appropriate to use for Ignotus and Death are referring to each other as friends, not simply "You". Thanks again to Qoheleth, who pointed this out to me in the first place. If I am wrong about this however, don't hesitate to tell me! Your advice is greatly appreciated!

P.S. Chapter 5/4 should be up soon... Thank you for your patience!

_ "Life is just the next great adventure,"_

Albus Dumbledore in "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows"

A shadowy figure stood in the midst of the valley, the long, wisp-like tendrils of grass billowed against his thighs. The wind-swept down from the snow-capped mountain, encasing everything around it in an icy coldness that reached the heart of every living being. One man however, was unaffected, for he was as cold as the wind itself. He had nothing to fear.

He stood with a small smile plastered on his old, withered face, his eyes closed. His tall, willowy frame seemed to blow with the wind, moving from side to side like an oddly shaped flag. Clutched in his hand, was a silvery, slight fold of cloth, that, if you looked hard and long enough at it, would disappear, as if it had never been there. Sparks seemed to dance though the fibers of this thin cloak, giving it an unnatural gleam. It was beautiful, yet so delicate, as most beautiful things were those days.

The man smiled wider, a suddenly peaceful expression crossed his face as if he were dreaming. A gust of particularly cold wind swept over the land and the man reached out his arms in a welcoming, friendly way.

"Death," He greeted warmly, as if welcoming an old friend. "I have long-awaited thou." He kept his eyes closed, perhaps remembering a moment long ago.

Then, as if he had been there all along, a deathly pale hand crept onto the man's shoulders and drew him near, perhaps a little too possessively. Finally the man opened his eyes, and turned to face the owner of the hand. His body was completely concealed by a long, jet black cloak that reached well below his feet. His face was seemingly invisible under his hood, but if you looked carefully, you could see a dim glow of red where the eyes should have been.

"Yet you still hid yourself from me, Ignotus, why?" Death said, his voice sounded more like rustling, dead leaves crunching underfoot on an autumn day than actual speech.

"Hide, from thou? I was giving thou my respect by using the gift thou gavest." Ignotus said serenely, although there was a mischievous glint in his surprisingly green eyes.

"Thou liest, Ignotus. Thou have been avoiding the unavoidable, Death." The figure said, though no emotion could be heard. It was as if talking to stone statue.

Ignotus fiddled with his thumbs looking somewhat abashed. "Thou dost have to wait any longer. I have lived a long, good life, and I am ready to face the next great adventure… But when the time has need, I shall return."

"The world has need always." Death said. "But thou choosest when thou have need of the world."

"Thou have always understood, old friend. Though I know thou wouldst not allow such thing if there were no deaths to be paid." Ignotus said sounding amused.

"Life is but for a while, but death is ever-lasting." Death agreed somberly.

"When time calls, I shall be reunited with my gift…" Ignotus said quite cheerfully. Then adding in after-thought,"There are sure to be many lives lost."

Death pulled Ignotus closer, and with a longing look, Ignotus let the wind take the beautiful cloak and watched as it was carried away. He knew that it would find its master. "I am ready," he said, looking up to where Death's eyes would have been.

"Very well, Ignotus," Death said finally. "Until the world hath need of thou."

"Until the world hath need." Ignotus repeated. And with that, Death took the third brother as his own.

Hundreds of years later, in a small hospital room, a baby boy was born. He opened his new eyes and took a look of the world around him. "Look, he opened his eyes." A voice that sounded like an angel's said into the little boy's hair. "They are green, who ever heard of a baby with green eyes?" A healer dressed in white robes said in wonder. "He must be destined for great things." The black-haired man chuckled. "Harry," The woman said. "We will name him Harry James." She cuddled him closer her chest. None of them knew that indeed, Harry was destined for great things; indeed in a way they had never imagined. Harry blinked, _the world hath need._


	2. Chapter 1 The Dementors' Lament

Chapter 1. The Dementors' Lament

A/N: Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! I've enjoyed reading them! I must admit that it took me almost a full night to figure out when this chapter would start, but I finally decided on the summer before Harry's fifth year for reasons witch will later be revealed. This chapter is about twice as long as the prologue, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. The same rules apply as before. The faster you review, the faster I update. Enjoy!

**mliyanagamage: **Thank you for the awesome review! As for your question, Ignotus's wife and son will appear later in the story, but maybe not in the way that you expect it.

** Ecila Raveniz Thgilyad and Teufel1987: **I am glad you are enjoying the story. I hope I live up to your expectations.

**Nothing You Need to Know****: **Don't worry; I will continue this story as long as people are enjoying it. Thank you for your comment.

"_Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."_

Luna Lovegood and Rowena Ravenclaw in Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix and Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows

The dry, parched grass cracked and bent under the light pressure of his foot, causing a rather loud, and satisfactory sound to fill the air. The pavement sizzled and crackled so violently it seemed comical, and the usually spotless cars stood dusty in their drives. The use of hosepipes had been banned due to lack of rain, much to the disapproval to the rather snooty inhabitants of Privet Drive. It was not surprising that one could still here the steady trickle of a nearby hosepipe.

Despite Privet Drive's seemingly natural efficiency of avoiding the hosepipe ban, no one could say that it belonged to 'one of those' neighborhoods. Indeed, if you suspected that it wasn't, you be quite wrong. Although Mr. Number 7 seemed friendly, he really was a heartless prat in the end. And that Mrs. Number 3 seemed like she really wanted to help you, she truly didn't. Perhaps Privet Drive's case was not as severe as other places, but it was still there. Maybe the heart of the problem lay at Number 4, where Mr. and Mrs. Dursley sat loftily on their sofa, waiting for their beloved boy to come home, but dreading the other's arrival.

A fifteen year old boy sat on the edge of a slightly damaged swing, which he suspected Dudley and his gang to be guilty of. It was tilted sideways, due to the loose chains, and although it was not particularly comfortable, it was still better than nothing. The boy swept his tousled, raven black hair away from his forehead, annoyed of how it stuck to his skin with sweat. He had a thin, slight build and had the rather unhealthy look of someone who had grown a lot in a short period of time. His glasses were bent in many the wrong places, evidence that they had been broken multiple times. His astonishingly green eyes shown behind them

Harry looked up as the sound of voices and the soft clicking of expensive racing bikes filled the. It was Dudley, accompanied by two of his faithful gang members, Piers and Gordon. It was funny, really, Dudley had his gang, Voldemort had his Death Eaters; did that make Voldemort just a leader of a children's gang? "No," He thought silently to himself. "Voldemort is a murderer, Dudley is not, despite all the ten year olds he's had beat up."

_"Servant of Death,"_

Harry's head snapped up so fast he heard his neck crack. There was no one there. He knew that no muggle would be able to hide themselves from his gaze in the open clearing of the park, but just to make sure, he checked the perimeter. Nothing.

Whoever they were, they were surely a wizard… With an invisibility cloak? He had not heard of many but his own, Dumbledore had told him they were extremely rare to come by. Harry thought back to the loud cracking noise he had heard earlier, the one that had sounded exactly like someone Apparating or Disapparating. Were the Weasleys finally picking him after all this time to bring him the Burrow where Ron and Hermione were surely waiting for him expectantly? Or, more likely, had a Death Eater been sent to do-him-in or possibly even Voldemort himself, angrier than ever with the events that had happened at the graveyard? He had been expecting this, yet now that it was actually happening… He might have already killed his aunt and uncle, and was now waiting for him come back and see their bloody, mangled bodies; their eyes having the same stony, deadened look as Cedric's.

"Oi, Potter!" A gruff voice called from across the park; a voice that could belong to someone behind a mask.

Harry whipped around, his wand at the ready; then lowered it abashedly, it was only Dudley.

"Don't you point that thing at me!" Harry's large, piggish cousin squealed in terror. Under different circumstances, Harry would have found little Diddykins shrieking like a five year old girl remotely funny, but not today.

"Dudley, we've got to get back to the house, quickly!" Harry said urgently, and then, with a sudden idea, "Give me your bike!"

He watched as Dudley's face turned from its natural light shade of pink to deep magenta. "Let you ride my bike, why would I—," His mouth continued to move, but this time soundlessly.

Harry had reached his boiling point. Why did Dudley always have to make things more difficult than they already were? There was no time for games. People could be dying this very second for all he knew. For the third time that night, he whipped out his wand and pointed it at Dudley's great chest. He whimpered.

"Dudley," Harry said through clenched teeth. "This is no time for fooling around. Give me your bike." They were wasting time; every second that passed gave Voldemort a new opportunity to kill another innocent victim.

"But," Dudley began, regaining his speech.

"Shut up Dudley, you moron!" Harry shouted angrily, and without a moment's hesitation he leapt nimbly onto the bike that Dudley held loosely in the palm of his hand, and kicked off from the ground. This would have worked perfectly if Harry had experience with riding bikes, and he tilted from side to side dangerously. He heard Dudley's cries of rage and horror as he desperately tried to catch up. Fortunately for Harry, Dudley was not in the best of shape even with his new junior 'heavy weight boxing' champion title. Finally, Harry steadied himself on the bike, and took towards the shortcut between Magnolia Crescent, where he had first spotted his godfather, Sirius, at a fairly decent pace for someone who had just learned how to ride. That was when he felt them.

The bike crashed into the alleyway wall in his shock. He tumbled to the rough, hard pavement and barely managed to stifle a cry. Pain shot up his left arm, and he felt the warm gush of blood pour over his skin. It was bloody, but not deep. That was good; he could live with the blood. He stood up, the sky had gone dark; there were no stars. He clutched his bleeding arm to his side and fumbled around for his wand. How had they gotten here? Had Voldemort brought them with him to take out all of Privet Drive? More importantly, what was he going to do about it? He couldn't find his wand.

"No, no, NO!" Harry muttered furiously, scanning the ground for it. It must have fallen out when he was riding Dudley's bike. Dudley, where was—

"Dudley!" Harry bellowed into the night. "Dudley!" This was his entire fault; this was all Harry's fault.

"No," He murmured quietly.

Harry heard footsteps draw nearer and nearer to him, and once again he grabbed hopelessly for his wand, but— dementors didn't have footsteps for they didn't walk, they glided. Sure enough, it was not a dementor that approached him, but a very exhausted looking Dudley.

"Dudley!" Harry cried out. He could not remember a time he was so happy to see his cousin. He rushed towards him, but Dudley shied away cowering.

"S-stop it, make it s-stop." Dudley stuttered, his usual harsh voice trembling. "S-so cold,"

Ah, so Dudley could feel them too; the sense of hopelessness and terror. But what could Dudley, who was so spoiled and loved by his parents, know of fear?

Harry saw the puddle left by a trickling hosepipe begin to freeze over, and what little grass there was turn to dust in front of his eyes. A dark shape was moving towards him, its spindly arms dangling awkwardly at its side. He resisted the urge to crumble, to let death take him; but no, this wasn't death, it was worse.

Dudley was cowering by the stone wall, his hands clapped protectively across his face and— and there it was, his wand, lying a few feet from where Dudley lay. He dove for it, wincing as his injured arm skidded across the rocky gravel. Then, at that exact moment, two identical voices began to speak in a high, chilling way that seemed to freeze every bone in Harry's body.

_"Bow to death Harry. It might even be painless. I would not know, for I have never died."_

_"Come to Death, Ignotus, for thou ignorance cannot hide thou forever. _

Harry's hand closed around his wand, and he pulled it upright protecting his face. "Think, think of something happy!" He commanded himself fiercely.

The screaming had started; two voices joined as one burst through Harry's ears. There was something harmonious about them, despite the distinguished terror that they both possessed.

He quickly imagined his first time riding a broom; the wind blowing in his hair, Malfoy's look of surprise as he swept in towards him…

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" He yelled, and a small stream of silvery mist erupted from his wand. Not good enough. He felt a cold chill from behind him, and the icy hands of a dementor started to peel his hands (which he had thrown over his mouth in effort of keeping it from the dementor) almost lovingly apart. That could only mean one thing, there was more than one.

"Dudley, whatever you do, keep your mouth shut!" He shouted through his hands. "Keep your mouth shut. High pitched laughing played over in his ears; if he didn't get away fast he feared he would go mad.

The dementor was pulling away its hood, revealing a shrunken, flakey, grey head with a large gaping hole where its mouth should've been. Its hands closed tightly around his neck, and tilted his head slightly up as though it were about to kiss him.

"So this is it," Harry thought. "I'm never going to see Ron or Hermione or Ginny ever again. Then, the strangest thing happened. A memory, which he never remembered, having burst into his head.

_He was twirling a beautiful red-haired girl around him; her sparkling blue eyes twinkled as she stared into his face, never looking away. He drew her nearer and nearer until she was only inches away from him… _

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" A gleaming silver stag appeared before him and without hesitation charged the dementor who's mouth was now dangerously close to Harry's own. But instead of the dementor being forced to flee as they usually had, it lay emotionless beside Harry, black ooze gushing from its side.

He turned to Dudley, who was now allowing the Dementor to take his soul; he was giving up.

"OVER THERE!" Harry roared, and watched as the dementor crumpled to the ground in astonishment. Could dementors die?

"Dementors, here in Little Whinging! I am going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"

Harry doubled over in surprise as his batty, old neighbor, Mrs. Figg, came into view.


	3. Chapter 2 The Second Brother

Chapter 2. The Second Brother

A/N: Chapter 2/3 is up! Unfortunately I do not believe that the fanfiction website recognizes prologues, so I end up getting confused on what to label my chapters. As always, I welcome constructive criticism wholeheartedly. In fact, I believe that the only way to get better is being told what you need to fix. Some people however, get extremely upset when they get a not "Over the top, this is amazing" comment, when really the reviewer is just trying to help. Not that I don't enjoy those comments of course! Again, thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows; they really make my day!

**Teufel1987**: Again, thank you for pointing out that little quote mishap. Don't worry; I gave Rowena Ravenclaw her credit!

**Ecila Raveniz Thgilyad**: Thanks, I hope I live up to your expectations!

Disclaimer: Sadly, I am not the great J.K. Rowling… I am not in the Warner Bros. company, and I certainly do not own any of the Harry Potter books. J.K. Rowling also owns the letters that are written in this chapter.

"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."  
― Plato

If the dementors had surprised Harry, he could not begin to describe what he had felt at that moment. His batty, cat-obsessed, old neighbor was a witch? He had to repeat that thought ten times just to register it in his brain. It was insane… Impossible… but it fit. He knew that no muggle had ever been able to see a dementor, just felt the icy coldness that they carried. Perhaps that was even more frightening than being able to see the source of the terror, for not knowing is one thousand times worse than the truth.

"You're a witch?" Harry asked, the words still feeling foreign on his tongue.

Mrs. Figg waved her arms in a dismissive, yet erratic way, looking preoccupied.

"No, no, of course not! I was born a squib; could never transfigure a teabag to save my life!" As she said this, she shook her head so violently that it caused her decorative flowered bonnet to leap to the side of her head, giving her an odd, lopsided appearance. "Luckily, Mr. Tibbins had tipped me off about Mundungus leaving his post to buy stolen cauldrons no doubt, and now look at the trouble he's given us! I told him not to go, I _told_ him!"

She said this all so fast that Harry had a hard time digesting it, but was instead given a strange mental image of Mr. Tibbins (one of Mrs. Figg's many cats) opening his mouth and speaking to her of these unwanted occurrences.

"Who's Mundungus?" He asked, still struggling to comprehend everything.

Mrs. Figg tapped her foot impatiently, causing dirt to sprinkle itself over her pink slipper.

"Mundungus Fletcher, he was supposed to be watching you tonight, but he left, that damned scoundrel left! I am going to _kill_ him!"

"Wait, I'm being watched?" Harry asked, feeling a twinge of annoyance rise up in his chest. Dumbledore wouldn't let him leave Privet Drive for the Burrow, but insisted on keeping an eye on him, totally demolishing what privacy he had. If he was going to follow him, why couldn't he at least let him be somewhere that he didn't despise?

"Of course you're being watched; and they told me you were intelligent!"

If it was an intended insult or not, Harry chose to ignore it; and with instant realization he recalled the loud cracking noise he had heard earlier.

"I think heard him Disapparate." He told her reproachfully. So it wasn't the Death Eaters after all. He felt slightly foolish with himself. Why would Voldemort reveal himself from the world he had so desperately tried to hide from?

_"But it didn't work, Dumbledore knows you're back." _ Harry thought silently, with a hint of triumph that was quickly replaced by the image of Cedric's lifeless body.

Mrs. Figg nodded her head. "Yes, that seems about right. He never cares about what anyone hears or sees." She sniffed, as though there was no greater sin than carelessness. "I honestly don't know how the muggles don't suspect anything with him around— and now dementors, here! I'm surprised the ministry officials haven't arrived yet to arrest you for underage sorcery or something idiotic like that."

"What? Wouldn't they be more concerned about what the dementors were doing here in the first place?" Harry asked, baffled. "What was I supposed to do, let it take my—,"

"I never said that they were right," Mrs. Figg said hastily, her large handbag swinging to and fro. "Although I doubt that the minister will admit that the dementors were ever here at all! It wouldn't look too good for him if people found out that the guards for the most infamous wizarding prison known throughout the world were attacking fifteen year old boys, would it?"

Harry clenched his fists in frustration, how could Mrs. Figg not see them?

"But they're right—," He had turned to the place where the dementors had lay, only to find the alleyway completely empty other than he and Mrs. Figg.

Mrs. Figg craned her unusually long neck over Harry's shoulder, peering blindly into the darkness.

"What do you mean, boy? Are there more of them." She asked in a whisper, her voice on the verge of panic.

"I— they were right there! There was this black stuff oozing out of them, and—,"

"Good heavens!" Mrs. Figg proclaimed, looking horrified. "And you intend to plead innocent by babbling on about dead dementors when there were surely none to be found! They'd expel you for sure!"

Harry's annoyance rose even higher; if everyone was going to pretend that the dementors weren't there… It didn't help that Mrs. Figg insisted on calling him _boy_.

"So you expect me to lie?" Harry asked angrily; red flush creeping up the back of his neck. He was sick of it; sick of being forced to play this cruel game that the ministry, no, the entire world had created. They made it _his _fault that the dementors had attacked him, _his_ fault that he was entered in the Triwizard Tournament, _his_ fault that Cedric had died, his blank emotionless eyes staring at the tips of Wormtail's feet… He glanced up at Mrs. Figg, who was staring at him in disbelief. So she didn't believe him, which made her just as bad as the rest.

Ignoring his question, she hobbled over to Dudley and started to pull persistently at his large, beefy arm, causing loud whimpers to escape his lips.

"Get up you great lump, get up!" Mrs. Figg said angrily, but Dudley could not, or would not move so much as an inch.

Sighing exasperatedly, Harry was able to ling Dudley's arms across his shoulders with the help of Mrs. Figg. Warily, he glanced back at the still empty alleyway, and left to the deserted street.

They walked in silence for a while, Harry's constant panting, and Mrs. Figg's constant muttering was the only noises that could be heard throughout the night. By the way her voice wavered dramatically; it gave Harry the assumption that she was planning an assassination. His mind however, was elsewhere. The chilling voice that the dementors had always spoken to him was to be expected; but never had he heard what they had said tonight. He clearly recalled Voldemort telling him to 'bow to death', but never the latter. Had the dementors possibly mistaken him with someone else? But he had never heard of this Ig-person before. His thoughts were soon interrupted by a loud cracking noise harmonized with Mrs. Figg's screams of fury.

"MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO _KILL_ YOU!" And with that, she started whacking a short, shaggy haired man around the head with a bag that sounded suspiciously of cat-food when it made contact with flesh.

"Ow, ow, ge' off, ge' off ya old 'ag! What's got your 'airnet in a twist?" Mundungus demanded, although looking somewhat amused. "An' what 'appened abou' keeping cover?"

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED! DEMENTORS, IN LITTLE WHINGING, ON _YOUR_ WATCH! AND WHERE WERE YOU, OFF BUYING STOLEN CAULDRONS!"

"No… dementors, 'ere?" Mundungus said sounding completely bemused.

"YES DEMENTORS, ATTACKING THE BOY!" Mrs. Figg bellowed, and Harry could have sworn he saw Mundungus's shaggy hair blow back with the force of it.

"Someone's got to tell Dumbledore—,"

"YES, AND IT HAD BETTER BE YOU!" Mrs. Figg shouted so venomously that Harry almost felt sorry for Mundungus. Almost.

Mrs. Figg resumed with her persistent whacking while Mundungus hopelessly tried to fend her off.

"Alrigh', alrigh', I'm going, I'm _going_." And with that, he disappeared in front of their eyes.

"I hope Dumbledore murders him." Mrs. Figg muttered loudly.

They proceeded down the lamp lit road, flinching at every sign of movement. At last they reached Privet Drive, which Harry was grateful, for he didn't think he could bear to hold Dudley's weight much longer.

"I think you'll be safe here now." Mrs. Figg stated, although not seeming fully convinced. "They should be here to collect you soon."

Harry blinked. When was soon?

"Wait!" He yelled, but Mrs. Figg was already dashing hurriedly away.

Sighing, he dragged the still semi-conscious Dudley up the porch steps to the door, sagging under the extra weight. He rang the doorbell and held his breath; this was not going to be pretty.

The sound of bustling and hurried footsteps echoed within number, and the door was thrown somewhat violently open revealing Harry's horse-like Aunt Petunia.

"Diddy, I was getting worried. You were out so late— Diddy? Diddy! What happened, are you sick?" At that moment Aunt Petunia's babbling stopped as she jumped back to avoid the yellow colored sick that erupted from Dudley's mouth.

"Vernon, come here quick, he's ill!" Vernon Dursley did not ask exactly _who_ was ill, for he already knew. Why else would his dear wife be making such a racket?

Harry watched ominously as his aunt and uncle led Dudley over to a nearby couch, his seven chins scrunched together as his head sagged down to his neck. Harry let the door shut behind him; no one spared him a second glance. He quietly made his way to the staircase, barely listening to Aunt Petunia go on about muggers.

"It was him." Dudley said looking past his parents.

"Boy, come here!" Uncle Vernon growled. Harry stayed where he was.

Dudley shook his head and pointed past Harry's shoulder. "No, it wasn't him, it was _him._"

Harry whipped around so fast his glasses almost slipped off. There was no one there. A horrible sense of déjà vu overcame him, and he warily looked back at Dudley who was still staring at the wall past him.

"No one's there Diddy, darling." Aunt Petunia cooed, and exchanged worried looks with her husband. They obviously thought that Dudley had gone round the bend, and Harry reluctantly had to agree with them. Maybe the dementors had gotten to Dudley more than he had thought.

"Cold… so cold" Dudley was muttering, eyes absentmindedly scanning the room. Aunt Petunia choked back a sob and buried her face into Uncle Vernon's beefy shoulder.

He watched as Uncle Vernon's face turned a violent shade of magenta as he made his way towards Harry.

"What did you do to him, boy? Answer me!" He bellowed, his large hands once again reaching for Harry's throat. He nimbly ducked out of their reach.

"I-," Harry started, but was interrupted a large thumping noise.

_"I'm surprised the ministry officials haven't arrived to arrest you for underage sorcery or something idiotic like that." _Mrs. Figg had said. He involuntarily shuddered. Were they here?

"Owls, I will not have owls in MY HOUSE!" Uncle Vernon yelled, tearing at his great mustache, a habit that he had stopped years ago.

Harry looked up. A large screech owl gracefully glided into the open kitchen window, a letter emblemized with the ministry seal clutched in its talons. He made a grab for it, heart pounding painfully in his chest.

_ Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle inhabited area and in presence of a Muggle._

_ The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand._

_ As you have already received an official warning for previous offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 A.M. on August 12__th__._

_ Hoping you are well,_

_ Yours sincerely,_

_ Mafalda Hopkirk_

_ IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE_

_ Ministry of Magic_

Harry had to read it five times to process the information that it held. The unpleasant feeling of your stomach being twisted into knots overcame him as he finally tore his eyes away from the letter. He was expelled; he could never return to Hogwarts. He would be stuck at the Dursley's for the rest of his life.

_"No,"_ Harry thought firmly to himself. He would leave now before the Ministry officials got to Privet Drive. He would head to the Burrow and live with the Weasleys… But no, they would find him there; it was too obvious. Where to go, where to go?

He was vaguely aware of Uncle Vernon asking him something, but was too engrossed in his own thoughts to pay him any heed.

"I said, WHO SENT THE BLOODY OWL!" Uncle Vernon growled, his large stubby nose only inches away from Harry's face.

"The Ministry, I mean my ministry" Harry answered, refusing to back away from his Uncle's horrifying breath. Maybe he would travel out of Great Britain, like Sirius had.

"Your lot has a _Ministry?" _Uncle Vernon asked in disbelief. "No wonder this place has gone to the dogs!"

There was another screech and flapping of wings, and then—, "NO MORE BLOODY OWLS!"

_Harry,_

_Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry, and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE"S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURREDER YOUR WAND._

_ Arthur Weasley_

How was he supposed to not use any magic while keeping his wand at the same time?

"Alright boy, what the bloody hell is going on?" Uncle Vernon asked viciously, standing in front of Dudley as if protecting him from a hoard of raging buffalos.

Harry sighed; he didn't have time for this. He glanced towards the door warily, expecting it to come crashing open any minute.

"He was there… so cold," Dudley muttered, his hands shaking with fear. Aunt Petunia ushered a tiny scream and looked frightfully at Harry, as if she thought he would attack her at any given moment.

"And what did he do, Dudley?" Uncle Vernon asked in what Harry was sure what he thought of as in a comforting tone, all the while sending Harry nasty non-verbal threats.

"H-he was staring at me… and t-then he started to talk to me."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked horrified; hadn't they heard that hearing voices was the first sign of insanity?

"What did he say, Diddydums?" Petunia asked so softly that Harry had to lean in to hear her. Dudley was now visibly shaking. His movements became sharp in forced, and his eyes became hazy as he repeated:

_"Foolish boy, thou cannot bring back those who have entered thy realm."_ Dudley began to laugh, a laugh that was quite not his own. It was a high pitched laugh that could send a chill down every living beings spine. The scary thing was; Harry recognized it.


	4. Chapter 3 Mortimus, The Bone Gnawer

Chapter 3. Mortimus, The Bone Gnawer

A/N: Next chapter up! If you are wondering why I don't leave information that the book gives out of this fanfiction, it's because I want to make this story feel real and detailed. However, I have shortened, edited, and added my own twist to this information for my own purposes. Thanks again to all of the reviewers, followers, and favoriters (I believe that is not a real word). You all make me feel extremely happy!

**Ecila Raveniz Thgilyad**: Yes, I know I am evil… Thanks for reviewing every chapter!

**mwinter1**** and ****Become's one with the story**: I'm glad you are enjoying it!

Disclaimer: Sadly, I am not the great J.K. Rowling… I am not in the Warner Bros. company, and I certainly do not own any of the Harry Potter books. J.K. Rowling also owns the letters that are written in this chapter. However, I do own Mortimus, the Bone Gnawer.

"_It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,_

_Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt._

_It lies behind stars and under hills,_

_And empty holes it fills._

_It comes first and follows after,_

_Ends life, kills laughter."_

Gollum from "The Hobbit"

Harry watched in horror as Dudley sank down into the Dursley's overly stuffed sofa, and lay limp. Uncle Vernon's usually brightly colored face seemed unnaturally pale, and Aunt Petunia looked as though she was about to faint. No… It wasn't possible, it couldn't be. _But it is…_ A small voice in Harry's head purred persuasively. Dudley had spoken in the same voice that played over and over in his nightmares, the same voice that had uttered the words that had sentenced Cedric to his death, the voice of Lord Voldemort.

Was it possible that Voldemort was possessing his cousin? Had he indeed come to Privet Drive with Harry, but not in the way he had expected? He felt his uninjured arm inch towards his wand, all the while keeping a close eye on Dudley. Neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia seemed capable of speaking at the moment, so they made no move to stop him; or so he thought.

Aunt Petunia scurried over Dudley making funny little 'oh' sounds, while Uncle Vernon raised his plump, purple finger into the air and pointed it threateningly at Harry, shaking with fury.

"WHAT DID YOU— OWLS!" He exclaimed, his voice hovering dangerously between a yell and a scream.

Harry stared at him dumbfounded, sure that his uncle had finally cracked due to the outrageous events of this night. Although, his suspicions were not to be confirmed as he saw a rather small, tawny owl swoop down through the open window, proudly clutching yet another ministry letter in its talons. Harry however, made no attempt to grab it, as Dudley had suddenly stood shakily to his feet. The owl pecked his ear insistently; annoyed of the lack of attention it was receiving.

"Diddy, dear," Aunt Petunia said nervously, placing a bony hand on her son's shoulder. He noticed that she kept him at arm's length distance, frightful that he may have another outburst. "Why don't you sit back down for Mummy?"

Dudley made no move; just stood unblinkingly at Harry, his eyes scouring every bit of him. He closed his eyes, confusion etched on his flabby face.

"What happened to his arm?" Dudley asked, looking anywhere but Harry.

It took a little while before what Dudley said to sink in, causing the entire room to indulge itself in an awkward silence. No one answered him, but Uncle Vernon managed a strange noise that sounded quite like something Buckbeak the Hippogriff would make.

The owl, which Harry had forgotten about, was now so angered by the treatment it was being given, gave Harry's ear a particularly hard bite and flew off into the night, dropping the letter at his feet. He opened it carefully, ignoring the throbbing pain in his ear.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_ Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the 12__th__ August, at which time an official decision will be taken._

_ Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further inquiries._

_ With best wishes,_

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Mafalda Hopkirk_

_ IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE_

_ Ministry of Magic_

The knot in Harry's stomach loosened considerably. He wasn't expelled! He was going to go back to Hogwarts! But… no, that was not what the letter had said. _'_You may retain your wand until your _disciplinary hearing _on 12th August, at which time an official decision will be taken.' He was suspended at the moment, neither expelled nor really free. Anger bubbled at the surface once again. How could the ministry be so daft?

Harry was suddenly aware of all the eyes that were laid upon him, but he caught his Aunt and Uncle sneaking sideways glances at Dudley, all the while hearing Aunt Petunia mutter fretfully to herself about the hospital.

"Well?" Uncle Vernon asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

"Well what?" Harry asked, feigning ignorance. However he may try to hide the fact that he was being put on trial for underage magic from his relatives, he knew he would fail miserably in the end.

"You bloody well know what I'm talking about! Who sent you that letter?"

Harry sighed, so much for keeping calm.

"The ministry," Harry said dully, for the second time that night.

"What for?" Uncle Vernon asked harshly, then seeing Harry hesitate to answer he exclaimed excitedly, "You've done something, haven't you boy? You've broken the law, and now even your lot's ministry is after you!" acting as though he had just found out the guilty murderer of some muggle television show.

Harry glowered at him, hating the man more than ever before. He opened his mouth to retort, but closed it quickly a small ball of feathers whizzed past him, hooting excitedly. He gasped as he saw Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl, crash into the Dursley's microwave while Aunt Petunia ushered an ear piercing scream.

"OWLS! I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS ANY LONGER!" Uncle Vernon yelled, once again resorting to hair ripping.

Harry happily ignored him, tore open the letter that Pigwidgeon had brought to him, and read what was written in Sirius's handwriting:

_ Arthur's just told us what happened. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do._

He reread five times, even flipping the piece of parchment over on its back, sure that he had missed something. Harry crumpled it in fist, stuffing in his jeans pocket, feeling a wave of disappointment overcome him. Even Sirius was treating him like he was some naughty little boy who had just been caught stealing from a cookie jar.

"I'm going up to bed." Harry muttered, moving over to the staircase. Uncle Vernon grabbed him by his wrist, but jumped back, yelling in pain.

"You will do no such thing until I hear what you did to my son, boy!" He demanded; face regaining its true color.

"It wasn't me; it was a couple of dementors!" Harry said exasperatedly.

"A couple of dementies?" Uncle Vernon asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"No, _dementors_. They try to suck out all of the happiness in you, and make you relive your worst memories. And if they get the chance, they kiss you.

"They _kiss _you?" He asked, an incredulous look crossing his face.

"Yes,"

"Why would they want to _kiss _you?"

"It's what they call it when they suck out your soul."

"Oh," Uncle Vernon finished lamely, looking only slightly disturbed.

"They haven't taken it from him, have they?" Aunt Petunia asked, looking to be on the verge of tears.

"Of course not! He wouldn't have been able to talk if they had! I cast the Patronus charm before they had the chance!" Harry said, wanting nothing to return to his room, and possibly write to Ron, Hermione, or Sirius.

"And what were the dementoids doing here, may I ask?" Uncle Vernon stated clearly, making it well aware he wouldn't accept his question to be refused.

"How should I know? I didn't plan on this happening!" He wished they would stop talking; his head was throbbing again.

"Was it _him_?" Someone asked quietly. Aunt Petunia was standing to the side of the couch, her shaking arm clutching the armrest.

"What, Voldemort?" Harry said, gaping slightly at her. He found it odd that Aunt Petunia remembered Voldemort, as she had tried so hard to squeeze all of the magic out of Harry when he was young. "Yeah, probably."

"Wait a moment; this Voldy-whatsit guy was the bloke who murdered your parents, right?" Uncle Vernon said angrily, looking quite as though he would like to murder Voldemort himself; for he was the one who had bestowed Harry with his 'normal' relatives.

Harry sighed, and nodded his head slowly. How typical for Uncle Vernon to state that fact so clearly.

Something purposeful flashed in Vernon's beady eyes as he said, quite maliciously, "I should have done this years ago, boy. I knew you would bring trouble to this house, but I've had enough! OUT!" He started shoving Harry towards the door, but a small thump made him freeze in his path.

A red letter sat under the windowsill, steaming dangerously. Harry, who had experience with howlers, stood back, watching as Aunt Petunia slowly approached it.

The howler burst open, its screams of fury echoing in the heads of all the inhabitants of number four.

"REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA!"

Harry seized his chance and made for the stairs, bounding up them like his life depended on it. He ran down the hall to smallest bedroom, and slammed the door behind him. Exhausted, he threw himself onto his bed, not even bothering to change into his pajamas, and fell into a restless sleep. Dudley's voice still repeating in his head:

'So cold,'

He was walking down a dimly lit corridor, his feet clicking on the glossy, polished tile. The torches that lined the wall cast an eerie glow that encased everything in a dull shade of blue; but Harry paid no heed to his surroundings.

_Almost there_. Excitement threatened to burst from within his chest, and he quickened his pace. A small black door waited at the end of the corridor, beckoning him nearer. He closed his around its smooth handle, heart beating painfully. That was when he started to sink.

His feet were slowly being sucked through the seemingly jelly-like floor, and he struggled to push himself up with no avail. He was waist deep now; watching helplessly as the floor consumed him. Harry was suffocating, gasping desperately for the air that wasn't there as his head went below the surface. Suddenly, it stopped.

Harry was standing in a small, dingy smelling hut; his wand clutched tightly in his hand. A once beautiful woman lay before him, her hair spread out in golden waves around her. He knelt down beside her, pushing her hair back gently. Nicks and cuts riddled her neck, giving it a bumpy appearance. It was if someone had slowly chewed it, intent on getting every last drop of blood.

"No," He muttered, a choked sob escaping his throat.

"Ah, Ignotus, I have wondered when the would come." A smooth voice said, practically purring.

Harry whipped around. A man was glaring at him hungrily, blood splattered across his mouth, yellow, inch long canines bared at him. His hair was matted and stringy, and he smelled of burned flesh.

"Mortimus, the Bone Gnawer," Harry whispered, the name feeling familiar on his tongue.

The vampire smiled at him, possibly looking even more horrible than before.

"Poor Cadmus, what shall he do after he finds his dear brother and wife dead when he returns home?" Mortimus asked, a taunting note playing at his lips.

Harry's grip tightened around his wand, and pointed it at Mortimus.

"Try as you might, Bone Gnawer, thou shall find I am much more difficult to dispose of."

Mortimus licked his lips. "Your brother should have not ridiculed me years before… This is simply my way of repaying him." And he lunged at Harry, blood flying from his snapping jaw.


	5. Chapter 4 Changed

Chapter 4. Changed

A/N: Hello again, I am pleased to inform you that I have not died over these past weeks… Erm, well, months. I can't really explain what happened; I guess my muse just decided to take a vacation. Anyway, here is the next chapter; I hope you enjoy it as much I enjoyed writing it. Yep, now the butterflies have decided to pay my stomach a visit. Oh, and after this chapter I will start replying to your comments with PMs, as this current method takes up a lot of space.

Teufel1987: Thanks for taking your time to review, and about Cadmus having a girlfriend that lives with him, I was not intending to state that she did indeed share his house. And with your comment concerning Mortimus, you will just have to wait.

Snakefang93: This chapter is a bit longer than the others. Thank you for your review.

LordXeenTheGreat: Thank you for all of your comments; I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as the others.

mwinter1: I am glad you are.

Ebru Raveniz Gunduz Lestrange: Yes, I believe we have established that I am evil many times.

Qoheleth: Thank you for the tip, I am very grateful.

* * *

shakes8: Yes, I am creepy in a rather lovely way.

Flare The Hedgehog: I am glad you think so! P.S. Your pen name amuses me.

"_Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn't stop for anybody." _

― _Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower_

Warm. That was how he enjoyed it. The thick, red liquid slid down his throat, soothing the aching cold. Cold. He was always cold. His victims shuddered at his gentle touch, prying away their fingers so protectively clutching their neck, never once suspecting how he had once longed to be one of them, never knowing how their blood was the only thing preventing him from turning into a servant of Death. And yet, here he was, after all of those years, still free, or as free as he could be. At one time, he had despised hurting them, their faces twisting in pain and agony as they drew their last breath. He hated how she had gotten to him so easily, her little hands slipping through his own when they were but mere children. He was infuriated when Cadmus, a man he would have been proud to call a brother, refused his offer when he had asked for her… So he had killed her, and never did regret a thing. He was a changed man, and change brought a new way of life, his life. Mortimus the Bone Gnawer had been born.

Harry woke to the sound of his own heart pounding in is chest, the flutter of adrenaline that coursed through his veins flickering to a stop like a dying fire. His hands grabbed desperately at his neck, trying to staunch non-existent blood. Ears ringing, Harry pushed himself up from his bed, almost falling back into his pillow from lack of awareness. The images still swam before his eyes; the look of absolute glee and hunger resounding from the vampire's unnatural red, muddy-looking eyes, the woman with her ripped neck, blood flowing in an eerily elegant way around her deathly pale face…

Harry turned over in his bed, causing his tangled sheets to twist around his body, ensnarling him in its resilient grip. It was just a dream, just a stupid nightmare. There was nothing to worry about. It was just his sleep deprived mind playing ticks on him, nothing more. Harry's reassuring thoughts in no way affected his anxious mind. Then again, he rarely had any normal dreams. This was to be expected, he supposed. Dumbledore had warned him that this might happen, and now that Voldemort had returned to full power the connection between him and Harry could have only strengthened. That last bit confused him however, for as far as he could see, Voldemort had no part in the whole matter, unless of course, he could somehow magically morph into a vampire, which in his opinion was rather unlikely. However, Harry wouldn't put it past Voldemort to try. Again, there was always the possibility that it could all just be what it was called, a dream. Despite how appealing that possibility appeared at the moment, he highly doubted the solution would be that simple. Nothing ever was, harry had learned through the past few years. Better to be prepared to face the worst than to get your hopes up too high. And then there was that name again, the same one the dementors had called him. Igbert… No, that wasn't right… Ignel… No… Ignotal… Not right either… He ripped the thin covers of his bed off of his body in frustration. Why could he never remember the bloody name?

He tried to imagine explaining this whole mess to the ministry.

"So then when I cast the Patronus charm the dementor fell down on the ground like it was dead, and I started freaking out because my muggle neighbor showed up and somehow knew what dementors were. Then it turned out that she was a squib instead of a muggle and was practically stalking me ever since I came to live with the Dursley's just to keep an eye on me. And oh, yes, and that's when I found out the dementors had disappeared, so sorry, you don't have any proof except for my word." It sounded stupid even in his mind. He suspected Fudge would probably take it as a golden opportunity to make Harry look like the spoiled, attention seeking prat Rita Skeeter made him out to be during the Triwizard Tournament.

A small trace movement reflected off the cracked and dust spotted mirror that lay at an angle on the edge of Harry's dresser, so slight that he barely caught sight of it. There was a soft crinkling noise, like a flower withering up due to lack of rain, and he watched in a horrified awe as the mirror itself began to, figuratively speaking, shrivel. Dirt filled the jagged cracks like water would in a basin, the once sharp edges softened as if time had suddenly taken its toll, and the glass chipped away like someone was pounding it lightly with a sledge hammer.

Harry cautiously crept up from his bed, reaching over to the bed stand on which he had so carelessly placed it. He pocketed it in his rather baggy jeans, praying that it did not slip out as he was walking. Things didn't just naturally shrivel up like a rose out of water. Someone or _something _was in his room right now. He felt slightly giddy at the thought, thinking of what the Daily Prophet would say if the Dursleys found his dead body curled up in a heap.

"_Boy-Who-Lived, found dead in his bedroom by unsuspecting relatives. Experts suspect terror of non-existent dementers are the main cause of this unfortunate happening." _Harry really needed to stop thinking like that, or he swore it would truly get him killed someday.

Suddenly changing his mind, Harry plucked his wand from his pocket, not even wanting to risk the possibility of having to grapple around in the dark for it again. Without warning, the door swept open, revealing a perfectly empty hallway. He checked the windows. They were both shut. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the darkness, wishing hopelessly that the light switch was on _his_ side of the hallway. Of course it wasn't, that was just his type of luck. It was in times like these that he seriously suspected the world of conspiring against him.

Harry tip toed down the hall, for he supposed the Dursleys wouldn't be so keen on him sneaking around their house at night, especially not when they believed that he had driven Dudley more than a little insane. It was just a guess. He heard the unmistakable creak of the stairs, he could swear he could hear voices talking, and rounded the corner, walked straight into the shaded figure of Remus Lupin, his wand slipping from his hand. Harry stumbled back from the force of the hit, only then noticing the sharp prod of a wand that was pressed achingly into the side his face, right below his brow,

"Who are you and what is your business here, boy?" A man asked gruffly, who just also happened to be the owner of the said wand.

"I, uh, Professor Moody?" Harry stuttered, feeling a nauseating veil of déjà vu whip through his insides like it was butter.

"That wasn't the question," Alastor 'Mad-eye' Moody growled, his magical eye sweeping over Harry like he was a meal about to be eaten.

"Relax, Mad-eye, it's him," Harry's ex-professor said in a would-be calm voice. That is if he hadn't just been barreled in by a fifteen-year old teenage boy. "Hello, Harry, it's good to see you," Lupin warmly, if a bit breathlessly.

If it had been up to Harry, he would have replied with a well-rounded, "It's nice to see you too, sir," But unfortunately, Moody had other plans.

"Where is your wand, boy?" Mad-eye belted, still staring at Harry suspiciously as if he expected him to blow up the house or something if he looked away for even a second.

"I, uh, it fell," Harry responded, pointing at the ground where his wand now lay. A small voice that was not unlike Hermione's echoed in his head, "Well that was an intelligent thing to say, Harry, very intelligent!" He then told the voice to shut up.

"It fell, did it?" Moody said, with the air of one explaining the simple physics of gravity to an over-emotional two year-old, and was quickly losing his patience. "Well then, you had better pick it up before someone else does, haven't you?" Harry froze; did Moody mean the thing that must have been here only moments ago? Apparently he did not if all response was dependent on the strange looks he was receiving from him. He hurried to comply with Moody's obvious order, stuffing his wand in his back pocket before he gave him any more reason to suspect Harry of devious plots.

"And why have you placed your wand in your back pocket?" Moody asked, sounding as if Harry had offended him with such horrible arrangements.

"Erm, because I always put it there?" Harry replied uneasily.

"Because you've always put it there…. I've known greater wizards than you that have lost buttocks because of their careless misplacements. And unless you have any wish of joining them, I would suggest removing your wand immediately," Mad-eye said, eyeing Harry as if trying to figure out his true motives.

Someone snorted, "Who have you known that has lost a buttock, Mad-eye?" A young woman asked curiously, appearing from behind Lupin's shoulder, her bright, purple colored hair sticking up in neatly formed spikes. To him it looked as though she had stepped right out of that muggle rock band poster that Dudley had been going on about for ages. He would never understand how someone who enjoyed beating up ten year-olds as much as Dudley did, could even bare to stare at girls in dressed in punk rock clothes for hours on end, even if it was in private.

"None of your business, _Nymphadora_," Moody scowled down at his shoes, looking quite put out.

"I told you, don't call me _Nymphadora," _The woman replied heatedly, her light hair suddenly turning the most vivid shade of red.

Harry's jaw dropped, and he gaped openly at her as her hair changed back to its original color. She must have noticed him, because the next he glanced back at her, he had the impression that he was staring back at a female Dudley, pig snout included.

"Stop fooling around Tonks, the others are waiting for us outside, and if we wait much longer they'll come in searching for us," Moody barked.

"I doubt it," Tonks muttered to Lupin. "Diggle's probably gone and blown up the what-do-you-call-it, dumpster. Strange name for a rubbish bin if you ask me, Dad's told me about them I think," Lupin cracked a grin, the first one Harry had seen tonight actually. Tonks practically glowed when he laughed lightly.

"Stop whispering you two," Moody glared pointedly at Tonks, causing a small flush to creep up Tonk's face. "Now, one of you go help the boy pack, while I go inform the others that everything has gone on plan. I don't like the idea of him wandering around in this house by himself,"

"Oh please, Mad-eye, you sound like my mum," Tonks said, rubbing her temple as if the thought caused her a headache. Nevertheless she seemed quite enthusiastic to volunteer to help Harry. He led her down the hall, glancing back behind him for the _thing_.

"Personally, it's a bit too clean for my liking… Ah, this is much better," Tonks glanced appreciatively around the room, nodding at the owl droppings that littered Hedwig's cage.

Harry wasn't listening; instead he walked over to his dresser, where the still stood, perfectly intact. A laugh escaped his lips, filling him with a satisfying relief. It hadn't been real. _It hadn't been real._

"What are you laughing about?" Tonks asked, a smile tugging at her lips even though she had no idea what was going on.

"Oh, nothing, just happy about finally leaving this place." Harry answered, her questioning gaze changing into what he could call sympathetic look.

"They must be pretty bad if you're so excited about leaving. It's funny though, my father's parents are muggles, and they're about the nicest people you can meet; they could never hurt a fly. I guess they are just like wizards in that way, there are both good ones and bad ones."

Harry just nodded, the giddy feeling had returned and he sat down on his bed for a moment to still the dizziness. He watched as Tonks threw open his trunk unceremoniously and began dumping in various pieces of clothing that were strewn across the hard wooden floor. He hastily dove under his bed, pulling up the loose floor board to retrieve his school books and Firebolt.

Tonks however, put up a hand to stop him. "You're going to need your broom, we're flying back; and wow, is that a Firebolt?"

Harry nodded, and grinned at the envious expression that had crossed onto her face.

"I have a Comet 260, not the worst broom, but not a Firebolt either. That thing must go at least one hundred and fifty miles per hour!"

Harry laughed, his Firebolt, the one Sirius had given him in his third year, still remained one of his most prized possession.

"You know, I don't think purple's really my color, do you?" Tonks asked, examining herself in the cracked mirror.

"Er," Harry replied, unsure of how to respond.

"No, it isn't," She said, and the next thing he knew her hair had turned bubblegum pink faster than he could blink.

"How did you do that?" He asked, gazing at her transfixed.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus, which means I can change my appearance at will." Tonks explained, admiring herself in the mirror. "Ah, yes, this is much better."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Tonks cut him off quickly.

"And before you ask, you can't learn how to become a metamorphmagus. Some people in the Department of Experimental Charms have tried, and believe me when I say that it is not pretty," She winced in disgust. "That poor lady's face never really has deflated, despite what they all tell her."

Harry only bowed his head, but he couldn't but feel a little bit disappointed.

"Well, we'd better hurry up if we don't want Mad-eye to flay us alive." Tonks said cheerfully, pulling out her wand, and pointed it at Hedwig's cage. "Here, let me clean that up a bit for you. _Scorgify!_" The cage toppled over, owl droppings flying everywhere. "Erm, I think we'd better leave for your aunt and uncle to clean up. Good thing Mad-eye put on the silencing charms before we came in; the man may be hopelessly paranoid, but he certainly is smart," She glanced worriedly at Harry. "But don't even _accidently_ mention that to him, or I'll never hear the end of it."

Harry just grinned, imagining the Dursley's faces when the realized Dudley's second bedroom had been splattered with dung.

They met up with the rest of the group on the Dursley's drive, Moody lining them in their flying positions. As it turned out, Daedalus Diggle had _not_ blown up the dumpster, but had tried to; a strict looking witch called Emmeline Vance had informed them reprovingly. He watched in amusement as the witches and wizards caught sight of him, their faces breaking into broad smiles as they came over to shake his hand. Moody actually had to grab Diggle by the scruff of his collar to prevent him from embracing Harry.

"Alright, introductions later; I want to be back at headquarters before sunrise, so we'd better get moving. Everyone get into your positions!" Moody ordered, still restraining an enthusiastic Diggle with his arm.

"Yes, sir," A dark skinned, deep voiced man replied, winking at Harry when Moody was looking the other way.

A shower of red sparks erupted from the dark sky above them, shattering the exact way muggle fireworks did.

"There's the first signal, everyone mount your brooms," Lupin said, his voice rising over the gentle chatter of the group.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I'll need to place a Disillusionment Charm on you before we make the ascent." Moody moved over to Harry, his wand raised.

"What's a Disillusionment Charm?" Harry asked curiously, but Moody was already bringing his wand down on top of his head. Hard. It felt as though the yolk of an egg was sliding down his neck and into the rest of his body, and when he glanced down, he rendered himself almost completely invisible.

Tonks waved at him as she finished securing his trunk and Hedwig's (now spotless) cage onto his broom, and headed back to her position.

"There's the second signal," Lupin announced as another burst of sparks shattered up above. "Now!"

They took off, exhilaration filling Harry's chest as Privet Drive became smaller, and smaller, until it disappeared into nothing but mere light, blending into the muggle world that surrounded it. None of them did notice however, the figure that watched them from behind the window, its yellowing, decayed lips pulling back into a toothless grin that strained the taut skin of its face, only one thought echoing throughout its mind.

"Excellent

* * *

They were about to make the descent; that is until Moody decided they were going to double back for a bit, just to make sure they weren't being followed.

"ARE YOU MAD, MAD-EYE?" Tonks shrieked, trying and failing to move closer to Moody without actually leaving her position. "If we turn back now we won't get there until next week! We're almost there now!"

"Time to start the descent!" Lupin shouted, the wind rushing past them so fast that they could barely make out his words.

Harry followed the group into the dive, only just managing to keep hold of the slick handle of his broom. They flew lower and lower, lights streaking by them so quickly he could swear they were the ones moving instead of he, himself. He could make out a large collection of houses, which were made visible only by the sheer number of street lamps that lined the walkway.

"Here we go!" Tonks called, and a moment later their feet touched the ground in a small, unkempt patch of grass the seemed to be in the middle of the square. Harry looked around, staring at the broken and grimy windows of the nearby houses. It would be a lie to call these surroundings comforting."

"Where are we?" He asked, a small part of his mind doubting that Moody had indeed led them to the correct destination.

Moody took a small piece of parchment out of the pocket of his coat. He handed it to Harry with a stern expression on his face.

"Read and memorize this. Quickly," He said, watching Harry unfold the bit of parchment carefully.

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

"What's the Order of the –?" Harry started, glancing down at the miniscule hand writing.

"Not here, boy! Someone might hear you!" Moody snarled, his magical eye spinning to the back of his head, checking for any unwanted eavesdroppers.

He yanked the piece of parchment out of Harry's grasp, and set it aflame with the tip of his wand, watching it burn with a sort of satisfied expression. Harry looked at the houses again, noticing the numbers plastered on the front of each house. Ten, eleven, and thirteen; number twelve was apparently non-existent.

"But where is –?" Harry began again.

"Think about what the parchment said." Lupin suggested, examining his watch.

Harry did as he was told, and no sooner than he had repeated the words, a battered and stained door appeared out of seemingly nowhere, right in between houses eleven and thirteen. It was if watching a muggle bounce house inflate, pushing back the corners of the other houses as if it were nothing.

"Hurry in now," Moody said, beckoning them towards the door and shoving Daedalus Diggle off of his arm.

Harry plodded up the stone steps of number twelve; his eyes locked the door before him. A silver knocker shaped as a twisted serpent greeted them, its tongue escaping its rock solid body. There was no keyhole. Lupin tapped his wand once on the door, and a loud, resounding crack echoed through the air as the door swung open, revealing a long, rather barren looking hall. They crept inside, peering over each other's shoulders.

"Wait here for a moment, Harry," Lupin whispered, giving the impression that a deathly ill person resided in the household. "Molly will be here soon to guide you up to your room, but at the present, try to keep quiet as so not to wake anything."

Harry never did get the chance to ask what he meant by that, as they were already filing down the hall, the muffled sound of their residing footsteps remained the only sound in the house. He felt a warm trickle down his back, and knew the Disillusionment Charm must have faded.

He glanced around the hall; portraits lined the walls like windows, their occupants gazing at him through their frames, while a rustic chandelier hung above him, swinging ominously. He heard someone cough, and looked up to see a sharply dressed man staring down at him from his portrait. Although his painting remained intact, the edge of his frame was rusted and cracked, as though someone had preserved the painting but had no care for the material that surrounded it. The man coughed again, his eyes filled with curiosity, as well as what one may call disappointment.

"Well," The man drawled, "I certainly haven't seen you in a while, boy. Indeed, I was quite hoping I would never have need to. Unfortunately, Death seems to have other plans."


End file.
